For the Fire and the Sleepless Nights
by ShayChambers
Summary: Even now, Clare's writing lacks emotion. Her mentor wants to help, and she's willing to heed whatever advice he has to offer. Clasher One Shot.


**This started off as a Self Para for an RP, but I may add more as the storyline unfolds. Reviews will decide that for me! Takes place before the assault/harassment.**

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. The failure was.

The past forty five minutes had passed with no progress to show for. Clare swiveled side to side in the chair at her desk, sneaking apologetic glances up at Asher every few seconds she continued to sit in silence. She didn't know where to start, what to say, where to delve. For as much as she'd been forced into over the past year or so, emotion was a difficult concept now, refusing to resurface from the dusty crevices of her head. So she swiveled in silence until he would give up.

"Something must be in there, Newsie," he sighed, lifting a rough fingertip to her temple. She sighed in response, aggravated with herself that she was wasting their time. _His_ time, valuable and so graciously offered to her, which she didn't deserve. Coyly, her shoulders pulled together, lost for thoughts.

"Your writing is sheltered," he began, and she wasn't insulted. "which leads me to believe that there are some tormented little thoughts mulling around in there. If not for your writing, do it for your mental health. You'll make yourself crazy if you pretend you're fine." For a split second, her thoughts drifted to Eli, guiltily so. He wasn't crazy, but she still remembered his voice all of the times he'd insisted he was fine; the voice so torn as he'd plead with himself to believe it. She shook her head vigorously, willing those days out of her memory.

"So what is it, Newsie? Gambling addiction, baby daddy drama, negligent parents?"

Her eyes shot up to him at his last suggestion, too quickly to be casual. He looked pleased with himself to have weeded one foot past the barrier. "Ah," he chimed, his voice raising in pitch as she outed herself. "Mommy issues." He nodded, leaning back in his chair, and the squeaking spine gave her shivers. She darted her gaze away, looking to everything, anything, taking in the molding of the room to avoid his knowing glance.

"My parents got divorced last year," She specified in a stupid moment of unbridled honesty.

"And what did that do to your _emotion?_" He pressed, drawling the word out purposefully as he laced his fingers together over his stomach.

She shrugged again, refusing to meet the eyes she felt on her. He sighed heavily.

_I was wasting his time again, I was failing._

"They fought a lot," She finally allowed. He stayed quiet, lips pursed and fingers stilled over his jacket. He wasn't satiated.

"It's… it's better like this," She muttered, shifting her eyes across the room to keep them occupied.

"_Miss Edwards._"

"Everyone is happier now."

"_Newsie._"

"It wasn't good for anyone to pretend."

"_Clare._"

"**It broke my heart!**"

The air grew thick, then, and Clare brought a shaking hand over her mouth, embarrassed by her outburst. She was always able to keep these things in check, this matter most of all. Yet here she was, losing her cool once again over the inevitable. She felt herself fluster, her eyes growing wide and she swallowed hard before straightening up in her seat.

"I'm sorry," she rasped, her throat tightening.

"I'm not," he retorted plainly. She nodded softly, still a bit skeptical. "Tell me about it." He requested, scanning her face briefly.

"About… about my _parents_? I-I can't!" She insisted, her eyes widening more, to their extent.

"You've already lit the spark, that's a good start, but if you close yourself back up now, your writing will stay as sheltered as you." He was stone faced and serious, and a bitter part of Clare wondered why he could be so sheltered himself, but it was a crime for her to keep her own secrets buried.

"I… well they fought a lot," she repeated, chancing a glance up to her mentor. He nodded. "About anything, really. They were… they were too different. But they tried to hold on, I guess. They'd always taught me and my sister about the sanctity of marriage and love and everything, but… it wasn't all that sacred for them." While she dug through the recollection of the past year, she absentmindedly spun the ring on her finger, not noticing the wayward look Asher was casting on it. "My dad, he, uh- ch-cheated. With his secretary. I found the divorce papers one day and couldn't believe it. He was always the one keeping things together. I wonder if he kept it together for her too…" She trailed, a little lost in thought by her last sentiment. "They filed, he moved out. Mom got remarried a couple of months ago, dad moved the secretary in," she laughed bitterly.

"A couple of months ago? That's awfully quick to meet someone new, was she cheating, too?"

"No!" She cried, horrified. "I mean, no, she already knew Glen. Me and his son grew up together, he'd been a family friend for a long time."

"Surely that made it easier, having such an old friend in the house?" He cocked a brow.

"Until we broke up, sure." Realizing what she'd just confessed, she flicked back up to him, biting her lip. He looked more confused than anything else, which was understandable, and she was relieved the confusion wasn't disgust.

"Um, long story." She muttered.

"So you live with your boyfriend?"

"Ex boyfriend," she corrected, tucking back a curl. The expression he now held was indiscernible, but she thought nothing of it. She took a deep breath, praying for the topic to change.

"So you said everyone was happier now. Am I wrong to feel that you aren't included in that lump?" He breathed calmly, tapping his fingers over his stomach. She swallowed again shakily.

"I…" she droned. His forehead raised in anticipation. "Well, I'm never really included in any of their lumps," she giggled lightly, though it didn't particularly strike her as humorous. "I want them to be happy," she whispered. "And if they all are and I'm not, I'm willing to pretend to be okay with that." She explained quickly, shocked to hear the words out loud for the first time. Asher sat forward in his chair.

"Your family's happiness is important to you, that's plain to see. But yours shouldn't take the backburner. Sometimes you need to get what you want, happiness be damned." He husked, placing a firm hand on her clothed knee. The corners of her eyes crinkled in a bout of confusion; she was never one to put her happiness first, especially with her family, but if he thought it would help advance her career? Though still unsure, she nodded warily.

"Now write," he instructed. "I'm sure I've given you enough inspiration, torment usually makes for good quality," he smirked. She nodded again, breathing a soft, airy laugh. Patting just above her knee, he pushed to his feet, walking towards the exit way.

"Asher?" She moused, unknowing of what forced spurred her to form the question, maybe inappropriate, bounding around her head. He turned back to face her.

"What torments you?" She asked, tilting her head curiously.

He smirked again, sending a smattering of goosebumps across her sensitive skin, and turned back, walking out of the office, and leaving her question floating, open ended in the air. Puzzled, she slowly circled back in her chair, facing the bright, blank, open document on the computer before her, and she lifted her fingertips over the raised keyboard and was proud of the clacking keys filling the empty office.


End file.
